


Intervention

by Whynotitsfun



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, F/M, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Multiple Endings, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-12 00:42:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whynotitsfun/pseuds/Whynotitsfun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on fancfiction.net. No major plot, just relationship baggage that I felt needed playing with. Some Sex, some humor, etc. This has two different endings. ** Warning, Chapter 7 has MCD (with a slight inkling of hope for temporary MCD) **</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on fanfiction.net recently. Thanks for reading :-)

“Come on, Miles. What are you going to do? You can’t just let me rot down here!”

At this point, Monroe was thoroughly irritated. He’d been sitting in this storm cellar, chained to the wall for the better part of a day. Unlike the one they’d stayed in briefly after their rescue attempt at the old high school in Willoughby, this one was empty. Many of the old farm houses in the area had root cellars that had been converted into storm shelters long ago. The house above this one was newer, and had likely been built shortly before the blackout. The cellar had been built with one purpose in mind: protect the pervious occupants in the event of a tornado. The walls were solid concrete, and if Monroe had to guess were probably a foot thick. Steel bars were embedded in several spots along the walls. Their intent was probably to secure supplies or even people during a severe storm. Stele grates secured the windows, allowing ventilation, but no means of escape. At one point, it appeared that they could open inwards, but they were screwed shut now. No doubt Miles had his hand in that. Even if he could manage to get himself out of the handcuffs that held him to the bar, he’d need something to remove the screws in order to escape. And, knowing Miles as he did, Monroe was willing to bet that he’d removed anything that wasn’t bolted down. Even the floor looked like it had been swept. The question was, why?

“Miles! What the hell? You’re just going to hold me prisoner?”

Again, he was rewarded with no response. Monroe knew he was up there somewhere and could hear him. He tried again.

“I know you’re up there, Miles. I can practically hear you brooding.”

At last, the door to the cellar opened. Miles squatted down in front of the stairs, rather than coming all of the way down.  

“Will you shut up?”

“Not until you explain why I’m down here!”

“Think about it, prick.”

“Oh, come on! Either let me go or shoot me. It’s getting cold down here,” he whined.

“Don’t tempt me!” The voice that replied most definitely belonged to Rachel.

With that, Miles disappeared and the door slammed shut. Monroe could hear the bolt sliding home, locking him in.

He slid to the ground, wincing as the concrete walls scraped down his back. It had been well over a week since that last night in Puesta del Sol, and the damn slashes were still breaking open. The whipping had been severe, and his back was in shreds. Had Connor kept going much longer, he very well could have killed him. Indeed, he had been very close to passing out when it had ended. As poorly as his back was healing, Monroe was starting to worry about infection. Infection was always a concern when clean bandages and antibiotics were rare, valuable commodities. 

Monroe sat there, reflecting on his current situation. Since the tower, this was the fourth time he’d found himself in captivity. _Guess I’m getting too old for this shit,_ he mused to himself.

They’d only been back a few days. They had returned to find the town in chaos. A typhus epidemic was ripping through the town, caused by the patriots. Rachel had managed to turn it around on the bastards after he and Miles had raided a patriot compound and found out what had caused it in the first place. It hadn’t made sense. Typhus was spread by lice. It shouldn’t have ransacked a town so quickly. A refugee camp, definitely. A camped army, sure. But, in a town with basic sanitation? Never.  It turned out that it wasn’t even exactly typhus. It was something the government must have engineered prior to the blackout. It looked like typhus, but it sure as hell didn’t spread like it. The bacteria had been injected into oranges. According to Rachel, real typhus couldn’t spread that way.

She had been smart, he’d give her that. After they had stolen the patriots' supply of vaccines and antibiotics, she had used what he and miles had found to contaminate the patriots’ food supply, and then they had been able to treat the town. The patriots were slowly dying in their own quarantine camp, unaware that while they suffered, the town was slowly on the mend. A fitting end for those bastards. 

Shortly after he and Miles had returned from their raid, Monroe had been rewarded for his assistance with a blow to the back of the head. When he awoke, he was here, handcuffed to this damn wall. He had no idea where Connor was. The last time he’d seen his son, Connor had been headed into Willoughby to help those left bury their dead.

He dozed off, sitting there with his arms suspended above him. When he woke up, it was fully dark. It was the sound of the door opening that had woken him. He heard voices whispering above and strained to hear what they were saying. 

“I don’t like this, Charlie!" The voice came from Gene.

“He won’t hurt me, Grandpa.” Ah, so Charlie was up there too.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I just know he won’t. But, he might try to escape, so close and lock the door behind me. I want to talk to him, alone. Come back in an hour or so.”

“If he tries anything, you won’t be able to get out.” Gene’s voice sounded worried.

“He won’t.”

With that, Charlie slowly appeared down the stairs, using a lantern to light her way. The door closed behind her. She paused for a moment to listen, and didn’t move until she was sure Gene was out of earshot.

“Well aren’t you trusting? Didn’t miles teach you anything?” He sneered.

“We both know you won’t hurt me, so save it.”

“What are you doing here? For that matter, what am I doing here?”

“You haven’t figured that out yet, Monroe?” She asked. She sounded surprised.

“Would I be asking if I had?”

She looked at him for a long minute, and eventually let out a sigh. She set down the pack she’d been carrying on her back and took a step towards him. He stared at her warily as she reached towards his hands with a key to unlock the cuffs. Finally free, he rubbed at his chafed wrists while she spoke.

“Miles is calling this an ‘intervention’, whatever that means. I’m calling it curing you of stupidity.”

He thought about her words for a second before it suddenly dawn on him that Connor must have mentioned the republic. He hadn’t been there when it all fell apart, and Monroe hadn’t exactly had the time alone with him to explain to Connor that their plans were not exactly going to leave them in the Mathesons’ good graces. He had known Miles was a founder of the republic and its militia. He must not have realized that he’d been instrumental in its destruction as well.

“So what are you doing here? And where is my son?”

“Being kept busy. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know you’ve been put in ‘time out’. He thinks Miles has you doing recon on a patriot camp. He won’t expect you back for days. He was a bit pissy over the fact you didn’t take him though.” She smirked at that as she motioned for Monroe to turn around. He stared at her, obviously suspicious. 

“Do you want to get an infection like Miles had or not? Turn around and take off your shirt.”

“Well, if you wanted me to take my clothes off, all you had to do was ask,” he quipped snidely as he complied. She lightly smacked his back in retaliation, causing him to wince.

“That’s what you get. Sit down. You’re too tall and I can’t reach.”

He sank to the ground in a crouch as she kneeled behind him with a bundle of supplies next to her. She started to slowly peel off the filthy bandages, occasionally causing him to hiss in pain when they pulled. There was some healing, but even in the limited light she could tell that between travelling and raiding the patriots, he’d opened them up multiple times. The deepest of the slashes were still even oozing.

“Why are you here? Why are you helping me?” It almost came out as a whisper, so she had barely heard him.

“A show of faith.”

He had to chuckle at that. She’d thrown his own words back at him. He remembered when he’d said them after helping her all those weeks ago. 

“You helped me once. Figured you at least deserved my returning the favor,” she continued.

Charlie began to dab at his back with something that quite frankly burned like hell. He jerked away from her at the offending substance’s contact. “Damn. What the hell? That hurts!”

“It’s salt water and vinegar. Grandpa said it will clean them and help prevent infection.”

“And I’m sure he knew it would burn like hell too.”

“Probably was the added bonus.” She finished cleaning, earning an occasional hiss of pain. She then started applying a salve on his back. It soothed the burning at least, whatever it was. She then started covering his wounds with real gauze.

“Where did you get gauze?” he asked her casually. It had been years since he’d seen any real sterile medical supplies.

“Patriot medical kit.”

“My aren’t they resourceful? You’d better wet them, or they won’t stick.” He was such a horrible patient, and he damn well knew it. He always had been.

“Just shut up and let me finish.”

He waited impatiently for her to finish laying the gauze, and then reached for his shirt. Charlie knocked his hands aside and pulled out a long cloth bandage. It resembled an ACE bandage, but it was white. Unused, by the looks of it. Yes, these patriots were definitely resourceful. She began wrapping it around his back and chest. The bandage would keep the gauze in place. He felt her breath on the back of his neck as she reached to bring it back around. He clenched his jaw and tried to chase a rather inappropriate thought out of his mind. He had little success. He closed his eyes and willed her to hurry up and finish before his body caught up with his mind. When she’d finished she sat back on her heals to study her handiwork.

“So why were you planning on taking it back? Is that was all of this was about? Saving me? Coming to Texas?”

He turned to face her, scooting so that he could rest his head against the wall. His position allowed him to face her, but it also gave him the excuse to avoid her gaze. So here it was. Part of him wondered if Miles had sent her down to interrogate him. He thought for a second about lying or simply shutting her out. But, the tone of her voice stopped him. Even if Miles really had sent her, she seemed to honestly want to know.

“No, it didn’t start out that way. I just kind of wandered after the tower, you know. I don’t really even know how I ended up in New Vegas. I was just stuck. By the time you and those bounty hunters showed up, I think I was just kind of waiting for someone to recognize me, put an end to it all. There was nothing to keep me going.”

He glanced at her now beneath hooded eyes. Her own eyes were wide, like she was surprised at the openness of his answer – or at the desperation he’d implied. She waited a minute, and then gestured for him to continue.

“And, after I escaped them and found those bounties, I figured that I had found at least something to do. I needed something to work towards and I knew that if your mom got captured, it would kill Miles… and you. So, I decided to help.”

“Me? Why would you care?”

He ignored her question. He wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, so it was easier to just pretend she hadn’t asked it. Instead, he continued.

“So there I was, trying to help and make amends with the Mathesons, and what did it get me? No one wanted my help.” She opened her mouth to respond to that but he continued, again ignoring her. “The whole time I had to sit and listen about how much of a son of a bitch I am. But, I got it and I stuck around. And I got arrested and sentenced to death. And, I was even okay with that. But there I was about to die for all my sins. You know, down to the very end I was still begging your uncle to forgive me? I just wanted him to be there, and all he did was throw it all in my face. I was prepared to die, if it made up for some of the shit that happened between us and all he could do was stand there and remind me that after being friends for thirty-five years, the last five left nothing there.”

“But you didn’t die. You’re still here,” she coldly reminded him.

“Well maybe I shouldn’t be,” he snapped back. He hadn’t meant to make that admission, and the startled look on her face showed him she definitely hadn’t expected it either. He instantly regretted those words.”

She started to ask him why, but he cut her off.

“I had given up any hope of ever finding my son until that night. You know what the last thing I begged Miles for before they took me to the courthouse? It was to find my son and protect him from the goddamn patriots. I didn’t know until then that Miles even knew he existed. He could have just said he’d do it and left it at that, let me die in peace. Instead, he just couldn’t resist slapping me down with the fact he’d known about Connor longer than I had. Son of a bitch had to rub it in, make it hurt. So yeah, when I woke up in that farmhouse, I decided I was done. Miles has already severed that tie.”

“So you just figured you’d find your kid and be president again, just to slap Miles back? What, are you five?”

“No, that’s just the added bonus. I didn’t plan on Connor coming here. Charlie, I hadn’t even planned on coming back. I figured he would have a life wherever he was. I just wanted to meet him before I moved on and the patriots actually killed me. One last thing on my bucket list.”

“Your what?” She missed that reference, once again reminding him of how young she really was.

“Never mind.” After meeting up with you I tried so hard to be a good man again. I used to be one, once upon a time. I know I never got close, never will. But, I’d like to think I was a little better at least. But, that’s not who Connor wanted. He was sitting pretty with his little cartel buddies. So, I offered him the only thing I could think of to get him away from there before he got himself killed.”

“The republic…”

“The kid was raised by someone who is, believe it or not, worse than I ever was. He’s power hungry and stupid and angry at me. If it wasn’t for my existing, he’d still be in Jasper. Emma wouldn’t be dead. He blamed me. Still does. He didn’t want a father, so I offered him power. It was just a tactic at the time, Charlie. You’ve got to believe that. He didn’t even take the bait.”

He gestured at his back. “There’s the proof. But when Miles came to rescue me and I didn’t leave, he decided to help me escape. I guess there must be some good in him after all. Guess he gets it from his mother,” he added bitterly.

“If you seriously want me to believe you, answer me this: Why did you decide to go through with it?”

“Because if I don’t, I’ll lose him.”

“If all he wants is power instead of you, who cares?”

“You still don’t get it, do you Charlie? Pretty much everyone I’ve ever cared about is either in the ground or wants to put me there. My folks, my sisters – dead. My wife and baby? Dead.”

Again, that startled look. She didn’t know about them, didn’t know him really. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

“Why would you? Miles sure as hell isn’t going to tell anyone. Might make him look bad if I looked like I wasn’t always such a monster,” he said bitterly. Your family pretty much wants me dead, and one of you will probably end up killing me once Miles decides I’m not useful. Don’t you see? Connor is the only one I have left?”

Charlie reached out and cupped his face, forcing him to meet her gaze.

“That’s not true.”

“Excuse me?”

“At least, it didn’t have to be true. Maybe it still doesn’t.”

“Charlie, I…”

Now she cut him off. It was her turn to talk. She needed him to listen, and mentally willed him to understand. 

“I know Miles feel like shit for whatever was said in the bank that night. You know he will never say it out loud. It’s not his way. But you didn’t see him that night, before we found out my mom had saved you. He was a mess. “

It was Monroe’s turn to stare at her, wide eyed and intent. He forced himself to finally look away. He didn’t fully believe but he wanted to so badly.

“I was a mess too, “ she added it so quietly that he almost missed it.

“Wha-“  
  


“You’re the one that doesn’t get it. He isn’t the only one you have. You aren’t alone. Whether he admits it or not, you are a part of our family. And, you still have Miles.”

“Not if your mom has anything to say about it.”

She smiled at that, “Well, she’ll probably still try to kill you, but she’s crazy.”

He laughed out loud at that statement. He looked at her again, those piercing blue eyes boring into her own. It took him a minute to gather the courage to ask her his next question.”

“What about you, Charlie?”

“Not if you try to bring back the republic.”

“And if I drop it?” He couldn’t help it. He always had been a glutton for punishment.

She didn’t answer him. She simply leaned forward and pressed her lips softly to his. He reached up and cupped the back of her head, gently pulling her closer. She may have started the kiss but he quickly took control, drawing her in. She moaned quietly into his mouth and instinct took over. He pulled her closer to him, and fully explored her mouth, his hands tangling into her hair. She responded by wrapping her arms around his neck. In the back of his mind, he knew that as Miles’ niece she was forbidden fruit – off limits. But in this moment, he simply didn’t care. She’d made it clear that she wanted him, that she actually cared for his sorry hide. He could, at least for a moment stop trying to convince himself that he didn’t care about her, didn’t want her – and he had wanted her. Since that very moment he’d first laid eyes on her back in Philly, he’d wanted her. But, because of who she was, he’d buried those feelings until now. 

He didn’t know when she’d stopped hating him, if she actually even had. Quite frankly, he didn’t want to ask. He knew that Gene would be back sooner rather than later, so he resisted the very strong urge to take things any further. For the time being he was content to simply hold her and indulge himself with her mouth. They heard footsteps outside, and slowly pulled apart. They heard Gene’s voice through one of the grates. 

“Charlie?” Gene’s voice wafted down to them. 

“Yeah, almost done. Don’t open the door yet. Give me a minute.” She slowly stood up, not taking her eyes off of him. She went back to the pack she’d brought with her and dug out a clean shirt. “Here, your old one is trashed, “ she said, handing it to him. He looked at it, raising an eyebrow.

“Plaid? Really?” He joked, taking it from her. He locked eyes with her as he put the shirt on and buttoned it up just a little over half way.

She went for his hand to cuff it once more to the bar. He offered it to her, and for a moment held hers, squeezing it meaningfully. He wanted to say something, but didn’t know exactly where to start.

“Thank you. For the shirt, and for…” He trailed off, not quite able to finish. She simply nodded as she closed the handcuff on his wrist. 

“There’s some stuff in here,” she murmured as she handed him the back. She stood on her toes and reached up to press one last kiss to his lips. “Think about what I said. You can still be a better man. I see it in you. That is that man I kissed, not the general. You can show Connor a better way. The Monroe Republic is not what Emma would have wanted for him.”

He flinched at that, knowing deep down that she was right. Charlie walked up the stairs then, and banged on the door at the top.

“Ready!” She called. Gene opened the door, and she disappeared. Gene closed the door, and Monroe heard the bold slide home, leaving him completely alone once more. For a split second, he thought that she must have been out of her mind, leaving his one hand free. But then, he recognized it for what it was. Another show of faith, a chance for him to show her what he decided. They both knew that any escape attempt would involve hurting a member of her family – or even worse, hurting her. Charlie must have decided that he would do the right thing and abandon his plans for a future republic. It had been so damn long since someone had expected him to do something right. It was sobering that after everything he’d done to Charlie and her family, she was able to see a man instead of the monster he’d become as General Monroe.

He was almost as good at escape plans as he was at killing. He was sure that there would be something in the pack she’d left him that he could use to free himself. The spoon she’d left to dig at the concrete, or the thin blanket to choke the next person that came down with keys. Either could work.

He sat back down again, and slowly ate the beans and dried meat she’d left him, thinking about what he should do next. Escape or relent? Put his trust in the Mathesons or trust his instincts? Trust Connor to move past the idea of the Monroe Republic and to want him instead of power? Take a risk with her, or the easy way out? By the time he had finished eating, Sebastian Monroe had made his decision. He kept the canteen close so he could ration water. It could be a while before she returned (he could totally see Miles depriving him just a while longer to prove his point). The rest of the things she’d brought, including the blanket, he stuffed back into the pack the best he could with one hand. Before he could change his mind, Monroe deliberately threw the pack towards the top of the stairs. It was now well out of his reach. Then, he pulled at the other set of handcuffs that hung from the bar. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he closed the cuff over his other wrist. He knew when she saw what he’d done, she’d understand his answer. Resolute in his choice, he closed his eyes and left himself drift to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Monroe (he hasn't re-earned the name Bass yet in this story, but he'll get there) will have to continue to deal with everyone in the Matheson family before this is through. So, sorry, no Charloe in this chapter. FYI: I envision the friendship between Miles and Monroe to be rather on the juvenile side. This story could be construed as a bit of an angst-fest, so I think it offers a little bit of comic relief. Plus, they're brothers. And brothers of all ages bicker.

When Monroe next awoke it was just past dawn. The suns first rays were shining through the grated window across from him. The light blinded him for a few seconds when he first opened his eyes. _Well isn’t this lovely?_ He thought to himself. His hands were numb, having been suspended above him while he slept. He slid up the wall slowly, suddenly very grateful for cloth bandage Charlie had wrapped around him. It had seemed like overkill at the time, but at least it offered him extra padding. And, despite the fact that it was the ugliest shirt in Texas, the one she’d given him was at least clean and warm. His old one was so stiff with filth, it probably could have stood up on its own.

He flexed his fingers, waiting for the feeling to come back into his hands. When the pins and needles shot from his elbows to his fingertips he had to bite down an urge to yelp. “Damn,” he muttered under his breath. It crossed his mind that perhaps he shouldn’t have cuffed his other hand until after he’d slept. Since she wouldn’t know about it until she saw him, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference. It still would have gotten his point across and he’d have been a hell of a lot more comfortable. 

This was not starting out as a good day. He was stiff and sore and he had to piss. He didn’t have to wait long before he heard someone approach. The door opened and miles started down the stairs.

“Good morni-“ Miles broke off abruptly when he almost tripped over the pack Monroe had thrown onto the stairs the night before. Monroe couldn’t help but laugh. “Watch out Miles, someone put stairs there,” he snickered.

“Dick,” was the only reply he got.

“Miles, you’ve gotta let me out of here.”

Miles looked at Monroe, noticing the change in wardrobe and the bandage poking out above where Monroe had given up with the buttons.

“You’re stupid if you think I’m going to believe you’ve given up that easily, Bass.”

“Not at all, Miles. I just have to piss,” Monroe replied with mock sweetness.

Miles rolled his eyes. “Hey, Gene!” Miles called, clearly irritated. Gene slowly appeared down the stairs. He looked tired, still unwell. Monroe knew that he’d caught whatever it was that the patriots had infected the town with. The drugs that they’d found at the patriot compound had worked, but the illness had definitely taken its toll. 

Miles tossed Gene the keys to Monroe’s cuffs and raised his pistol, pointing it directly at Bass’s chest. “If you try anything, I will shoot your sorry ass.”

“Relax Miles. I’m not going to take out Papa Smurf here.”

Gene led the way up the stairs, with Miles in the rear, never taking the gun off of Monroe. They led him to the side of the barn so he could relieve himself. Monroe raised an eyebrow at them.

“A little privacy?”

“Nope,” was the only response he got.

“Suit yourself,” he muttered before turning away to take care of business. He smiled evilly to himself. It was Miles’ fault really. He was being an asshole and refused to back up, convinced that this was all just a ruse for Monroe to escape. Which, if he had any intention of doing, he probably could - especially if Miles hadn't been practically hanging over his shoulder. But Monroe had made his decision and was willing to put up with this little charade a bit longer. _Might as well have some fun while I’m at it._ So, he turned slightly and pissed directly on the toe of Miles’ boot. It was childish, true. But it also gave him just a little satisfaction to watch Miles leap back, almost crashing into Gene, who was trying his best to will himself anywhere but there. 

“Watch it!”

“I told you I needed some privacy,” Monroe replied, desperately trying not to laugh.

“Really funny, Bass. What are we in kindergarten again?”

“Well that’s what you get for stealing my crayons.” Monroe had meant that to be funny. He hadn’t counted on the brief hint of pain in Miles’ eyes when he brought up the old memory from the day they had met over forty years ago. Granted it hadn’t involved urinating on shoes. It had been a chocolate milk attack at snack time, which resulted in them getting so soaked that they were sent to the nurse’s office to get cleaned up. The nurse had insisted that they make up before she would let them leave her office, and they’d pretty much been inseparable from that day forward, until that night Miles tried to kill him.

Not liking the direction his thoughts were taking, Monroe finished and walked past Miles and Gene, heading back towards the storm cellar.

“You two coming or do I really have to shackle myself?” He called over his shoulder before heading down the stairs. He stood in front of the bar the handcuffs were attached to.

“Nice shirt. Where’d you get it?” Miles finally spoke. 

Monroe froze for a second. So Miles hadn’t sent Charlie down last night. She’d come to him on her own. He hesitated for a second, knowing that Charlie was basically caught. Before he could respond, Gene spoke up.

“I brought it to him.”

Miles turned to Gene, startled. Technically, it hadn’t been a lie. Gene had brought Charlie, who had brought the shirt. Close enough.

“You helped him? Why?”

“Because I am a doctor and I took an oath to heal people. I’ve already killed the man once, haven’t I? I wasn’t about to let him die of infection down here. And, if you’ll excuse me I need to look at his back. I couldn’t see what I was doing last night.”

Monroe repressed a laugh at that, hoping Miles didn’t notice. Miles gestured for Gene to carry on. Monroe turned around and unbuttoned the shirt. Gene quickly removed the cloth bandage and peeled up the layer of gauze Charlie had used. There were a few slashes that Gene didn’t like the look of. They were just a bit to red for him.

“In the light please. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.”

Monroe complied and walked into the stream of light coming in from outside. As he did, Miles caught a glimpse of his back. He grimaced at the sight of it. He hadn’t seen it since the morning after. Some of the slashes did look pretty bad. Gene examined him for several minutes before he spoke. 

“Some of these need further attention. I’ll need my bag. I left it right outside.”

“I’ll get it. Bass if you try anything…” His words trailed off, leaving Monroe to fill in the blanks.

When Miles was out of earshot, Monroe turned to Gene. “Now it’s my turn to ask. Why are you helping me now?”

“Because you did help save my life. And considering I turned you in and killed you, I guess it’s the least I can do. Plus, she asked me to.

Monroe merely nodded and turned back around as Miles headed back down with Gene’s bag. Gene set it down and started rummaging through it, pulling out the supplies he needed. Pulling out a candle, he handed it to Miles, instructing him to light it. 

“You might want to sit down. This is probably going to hurt – a lot,” Gene warned him.

Monroe sank to the ground. Gene stuck the tip of a knife into the flame of the candle and then squatted down behind Monroe to work on the mess that was once his back. He pressed the tip into the sides of the worst slashes, causing yellow ichor to ooze out of them. Infection was beginning to set in, but it was superficial at this point. 

“You’re lucky I’m getting to this now. A few more days and you’d be in trouble.”

Monroe didn’t respond. He was too busy concentrating on now screaming his head off or passing out. The pain Gene was inflicting was almost as bad as the initial whipping had been. Before that night, Monroe had experienced pain. He was a strong man, no doubt about that. But, nothing had quite prepared him for the sensation of the whip falling repeatedly on his back.

Miles noticed that Monroe had gone a bit pale, and sweat had broken out on his forehead. His conscience got the better of him and he pulled out his flask, handing it to his former friend. Unable to talk, Monroe nodded and took a long pull off of the flask. Miles reached for it back, but Monroe’s grip on it tightened. Miles almost staid something snarky about sharing, but he realized Monroe kept it more as a distraction than anything else. 

Gene finally finished digging with the knife and moved on to cleaning the slashes with more of the salt solution he’d had Charlie use the night before. Monroe let out a hiss as the burning sensation added itself to the throbbing one. After finishing with the antiseptic, Gene started applying the salve, before finally covering his back with a fresh layer of gauze and wrapping the cloth bandage back around him.

Gene turned to Miles. “If you don’t want him to die down here, this should be done a couple times a day for the next few days. These should have been taken care of sooner. “

“Gotcha. Lock him up. I’ve got shit to do.” He turned to address Monroe then, “I’ll bring you something to eat later.” He then headed up the stairs, leaving Monroe and Gene alone. Monroe smiled in spite of himself as he slipped Miles’ forgotten flask into his pocket.

“Who would have thought helping me would be your and Charlie’s dirty little secret?” Monroe mused as he put the shirt back on. 

“My granddaughter wanted me to tell you that she knows what you did after she left. Whatever that means. She seems to think you’ve decided to reconsider your plans for the future.”

“Well, I’ve had plenty of time for self-reflection lately, haven’t I?”

Gene turned to look Monroe in the eye, his face betraying his exasperation.

“If you’ve decided not to rebuild the Monroe republic, why didn’t you just tell miles?”

“One, because he wouldn’t believe me anyways. Two, because he’s not winning this one.”

“Well, when do you plan on telling him?”

“When he gives up and lets me out of here.”

“You’ll be down here a long time with that attitude, son.”

“Yeah, well nothing like a good staycation huh gramps?”

Gene rolled his eyes and headed towards the stairs. When it came to their former friendship, Miles and Monroe both handled it with the grace of toddlers.

I’ll be back later to change those bandages.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the dreaded Rachel Chapter. Sorry folks, I'm not a big Rachel fan. Elizabeth Mitchell is awesome, but the character she was stuck with in my mind is a real witch. So, I've tried to make this one quick and painless.

After having spent another thoroughly boring day in the cellar, Monroe was starting to get edgy. Miles had come once to bring him something to eat and to “let him out”, but then had quickly left. He briefly recalled a time when he’d been suckered into dog-sitting for a neighbor as a kid. Twice a day he’d had to go over to feed and water the animal and let it run around the back yard for a few minutes. Now he knew how the dog felt. At least Miles had decided to leave the handcuffs off. Now he could add pacing to his short to-do list. 

It was now starting to get dark. He was no good with solitude. There was only so long that he could take being in his own head. He’d tried to keep himself occupied with coming up with increasingly bizarre escape strategies – some of which could actually work if he was actually trying to escape. _And why aren’t I?_ He’d asked himself this question a dozen times throughout the day. The sad part was, he couldn’t really answer it.  

Since he was now loose, he made use of the light seeping in the windows to explore his makeshift prison. The back side of the cellar was split off by a narrow doorway. The door had been removed at some point, possibly by Miles. The back room was as empty as the other. The difference was a drain pipe that had been installed to prevent flooding. _Well at least I don’t have to wait for Miles to take me on a walk anymore._ That thought had reminded him again of that damn dog. 

Exploring was short lived, and again his mind had turned on itself. He must have relived every moment of his tenure as President of the Monroe Republic: Every mistake, every regret over the past fifteen years. Just when he thought he was starting to drive himself nuts (again) he heard the bolt of the door slide. He watched as it slowly opened. Recalling Gene’s instructions regarding his back, he supposed it was time for a bandage change. He had been expecting Gene (although hoping for Charlie) but it was Rachel who made her way down the stairs instead. 

“Well isn’t this cozy?” He slowly sauntered towards the bottom of the stairs to meet her. He knew it was unwise, but he couldn’t risk antagonizing her. “Miles send you to put me out of my misery?

Rachel stopped at the bottom step and stared him down. She looked like there was nowhere on earth she wanted to be less than here in the cellar. “No, my dad sent me to look at your back, actually.”

Monroe turned and walked away from her. “Yeah, on second thought, I think I’ll just take my chances with an infection. “ He slid down and sat against the wall, crossing his legs and doing his best to appear nonchalant. “Probably safer.”

“Oh just shut up and get over here. The sooner I start, the sooner I can leave.” She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, waiting for him to get his head out of his ass and take the help she begrudgingly offered. After staring her down a few minutes, he finally relented and got to his feet. “Asshole,” she added the insult under her breath as he approached her.

Monroe took off his shirt and turned around, unwinding the cloth that covered his back himself. He didn’t want Rachel touching him any longer than necessary. A minute too long and she might give in to the temptation to put a knife in his back, he was sure of it. He almost jumped at the first contact of her fingers on his back. He was surprised at how gentle she was while removing the bandages. He’d have expected her just to rip them off out of spite. That was more like the Rachel Matheson he knew, not this.

He let his mind wander while she worked. He had thought he’d seen her in the crowd below him while he was tied to the balcony at Nunez’s estate. He hadn’t been completely sure at the time, and truth be told after the first lash, he simply hadn’t cared one way or the other. It was afterwards, when she’d shown up with the key that he’d been sure it was Rachel he’d seen. A sick part of him wondered if her voice had been among the morbid cheers of the crowd. As the leaders of the militia, he and Miles had sometimes resorted to corporal punishment as a way to deter desertion. Never had it been as severe, and although it had sometimes been public, it was never done with the spectacle that Nunez had insisted on. They’d never egged on witnesses to sadistically applaud and cheer. Punishment and humiliation were one thing, but what Nunez had ordered was a whole new level. He was sure that she’d gotten at least a little satisfaction at watching him being brought so low.

Suddenly, her voice broke his train of thoughts. “If you don’t stop tensing up, the new bandages will pull when you stand up, and you will split these cuts back open again.” She sounded decidedly irritated. He hadn’t realized he’d been so tense. He took a deep breath and forced his muscles to relax. He closed his eyes and tried to banish the images of that night from his mind. 

Despite all instincts to the contrary, he couldn’t resist the impulse to finally ask her, “Did you watch? In the crowd?” He let the end of the question trail off, unable to quite finish.

Rachel quickly wrapped the cloth bandage back around him.  She didn’t want to admit to him she’d seen. Somehow, it almost seemed like a violation. She started putting the medical supplies back away, not wanting to look at him while she spoke. “I did,” her answer came quietly, barely above a whisper. 

He looked at her for a few moments. “Well at least our little road trip had something for everyone then,” he remarked bitterly. He knew she had every reason to hate him, but the idea of her and the rest of the crowd sadistically watching and cheering made him feel ill.

She suddenly turned to face him, her blue eyes sparkling with both hurt and rage. “You think I enjoyed watching that? Watching your own son torture you while dozens of people cheered? Laughing at the notorious Sebastian Monroe for being Nunez’s bitch to slap around?” He flinched slightly at that. She realized then he hadn’t been aware his identity had been known to everyone. ”Oh yes, Nunez’s little henchmen made sure to spread the word about who you were. 

What kind of person do you take me for? It made me sick having to watch that. I’d be a liar if I said I didn’t want you dead. After everything you’ve done, nothing would make me happier. And, when this is all over I may very well hunt you down and kill you myself. Nothing you can do will ever make up for killing Danny. But, I wouldn’t wish a public lashing on anyone, not even you. I am not a monster!”

He caught the implied “like you” that she didn’t want to say. He turned away from her and started buttoning up his shirt. He knew he’d insulted her. For all her own sins, Rachel always took the moral high ground. He knew that, knew how her mind worked. He’d known her for a very long time, and knew that her holier than thou act was a coping mechanism. He’d overheard something about a suicide attempt after the tower, about her breaking. The angrier she got at him, the less she probably hated herself.

Rachel reflected on that night while she packed up the rest of her supplies. What Monroe didn’t understand is why she was so horrified about that night. How she’d wanted herself to cheer with the rest of them. She’d tried so hard to take satisfaction in what she’d witnessed, but she simply didn’t have it in her. She’d failed to enjoy it, and that felt like a failure to her. The world was finally paying him back for his crimes, and she’d failed Danny by wanting to stop it. (Ben did not require such vengeance. She’d been on the verge of leaving him right before the blackout, and in a lot of ways she had blamed him for not backing her up when she’d wanted to delay the DOD launch of the nanites. For all she knew, if he’d listened the blackout may not have happened) 

Any failure to enjoy Monroe’s pain seemed like a betrayal to Danny’s memory. But the true moral side of her felt guilty for wanting to inflict pain on anyone, even Monroe. So she was stuck in a tautology of remorse, revenge, regret.

She could not forgive Monroe, and she refused to acknowledge the man she’d known before the blackout. To do so would give him a slim window of redemption, forgiveness. If she forgave him, she’d have to again face her role in everything that had happened because of the blackout. She simply didn’t have it in herself to do that again. It had driven her insane the last time she’d faced it. 

She slowly climbed the stairs. She had been worried that she’d gone too far when she’d thrown everything that had happened to Connor in Monroe’s face. The urge to slap at him, hurt him was too strong. But, Monroe had seemed genuinely worried about the direction his son’s life had taken. His desire to get him out of the cartel had seemed so real. How did someone go from wanting to help fix their child to wanting to break him more? Everyone had a point where they simply gave up, stopped caring. Was it possible that she and Miles had pushed Monroe to that point? He had shown up in Willoughby wanting to help, wanting their forgiveness. But, they had just kept slapping him down. He wasn’t exactly known for his emotional stability. Maybe their resentment had finally pushed him to the point that he didn’t care anymore. That would make any attempt he made at reforming the republic partially their fault. 

Rachel turned around and tossed a bedroll and bag of food down that Miles had asked her to bring. Her thoughts weighed heavily on her as she locked the door and walked away.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the gratuitous sex chapter. And, Charloe as promised :-)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to be tactful, but I've read a lot of smutty novels in my time...

 

It had been hours since Rachel left. He had spent those hours wandering the cellar aimlessly, replaying in his head all of those dark moments in his life that always rose up when he was alone: a few of the more horrific moments in Iraq; the night in the cemetery he’d almost ended his life; the day ‘Bass’ had died along with his wife and child; the night Miles tried to kill him; the night in the tower; the night of confrontation with Miles and execution; and of course, that last night in Puesta del Sol. One by one, they rose to the surface of his consciousness to haunt him, before ebbing back down into his mind to give rise to the next dark memory, where they would lurk, waiting for the perfect moment to rise and attack him once more.

He was sitting in the corner, reliving each crack of that whip, each cheer from the crowd below. He could practically see the looks of madness and bloodlust on the faces of his “audience” when Charlie came down the stairs. Her approach ripped him from his current reverie. He stood when she’d reached the bottom stair, and walked towards her.  
  
Between his encounters with her family that day and his own memories, his nerves were frayed and raw. Maybe that’s why he said what he did as he approached her. Maybe it was just because sometimes, his mouth did not seem to be connected to his brain. In truth, there were moments in his life where he had no idea why something he said came out of his mouth. This was apparently one of those moments. “Just when I thought I had my fill of Mathesons for one day.”  
  
She simply stared up at him for a moment, looking as if he’d just slapped her.  She slowly turned back towards the stairs.  
  
 _What are you stupid? Why would you say that?_ He thought to himself. "Charlie, wait!" He called after her. She stopped at the base of the stairs, and turned back to him, not speaking.  
  
"I'm sorry I just..." The words died on his lips. _You just what, Moron?_  He didn't even know.  
  
"Fuck it," He blurted out and grabbed her, pulling her to him. Hurt, she struggled for a moment, as his lips crashed down on hers. She gasped at the meeting of their lips, giving him an opening to thrust his tongue inside and taste her. Whereas the night, before his kisses were gentle and slow, this was a passionate onslaught. This was desire and rage and utter frustration. Lost, she kissed him back as he placed his hands under her, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he slowly backed her up towards the wall, so she could support her back on it. He broke from her mouth and kissed down the side of her neck, eliciting a soft moan from her. One hand remained holding her up while the other roamed, sliding down her neck and side to the hem of her tank top and slid his hand under. His hand cupped her breast and she arched back to push herself into his hand further. His lips found hers again and he groaned as her legs tightened around him. She ground down on him as best he could while being suspended there up against the wall. She could feel him hardening through his pants and it made her feel powerful to know the effect she had on him.  
  
Slowly he let her slide down to the ground and he led her over to the bedroll. He pulled her down onto it with him and he rolled over to her. Before she could think he'd caught her mouth again. She reached up and tangled her fingers in his curls, pulling his mouth closer. He abruptly broke off their kiss and pulled her tank top off. His mouth trailed down to where the tops of her breasts rose above the material of her bra. This time when she arched her back he reached undue her and deftly unhooked her bra. He cupped one exposed breast. His hand was heavily calloused from years of wielding the sword. The roughness teased her nipple as he massaged her. He places light teasing kisses on her other breast. She moaned in exasperation. He laughed quietly at her frustration as he moved to draw her other nipple into his mouth. He worked her breasts like this, switching sides, unrelenting as she moaned and whimpered beneath him. Her hands went to his chest and she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. He broke away from her long enough to remove it himself and then lowered his mouth to hers, drawing her once more into an erotic kiss.  
  
"I want..." She moaned into his mouth.  
  
"Tell me what you want, Charlie," he panted back.  
  
She reached down and slid a finger into the waistband of his pants. She ran her finger along, just inside his pants along his waist.  When she reached the middle, she felt the tip of him. He was hard as a rock he groaned at the contact. She pulled her finger out and tore at the button of his jeans and unzipped them. She freed his erection and wrapped her hands around it. He flexed his hips and thrust himself into her hand.  
  
"I want this. I want you. Now."  
  
He closed his eyes for a minute, and simply enjoyed the feel of her hand stroking him. He opened his eyes and stared into hers for a second.  
  
"Not yet," he said with a wicked grin. He reached down and pulled down her pants he took her panties down with them. He didn't stop until they were down at her ankles, where he stopped to remove her boots and pull the garments off of her completely, leaving her fully nude in front of her. He spread her legs before him and slid up to her.  
  
"Close your eyes," he instructed her. She was rewarded for her compliance with him thrusting his tongue inside her. She bit her lip and fought off the urge to cry out at the sensation.  
  
Her hands flew to his head and she pulled his hair a she writhed beneath him. His thumb gently stroked her clit as he tasted her. He could tell she was building up.  
  
"I'm going to..."  
  
"Oh no, you don't. Not Yet." He wanted to draw it out for her, wanted to feel her around him when she went.  
  
He pulled away from her and he moaned in frustration once more.  He stopped to take off his boots, fumbling with the laces and kicked away his jeans. He slowly kissed and licked his way up her body, starting at her hip, working his way up her belly. He lingered at her breasts for a moment before kissing up her chest and neck. He kissed her then and she could taste herself on his tongue.  
  
The tip of his erection pressed up against her. She needed him and couldn't stand it. "Please..."  
  
"Charlie, look at me," he commanded her. She opened her eyes and stared into his. She could see the desire and longing in his eyes and knew hers matched.  He searched her face for permission to continue. She knew what he was silently asking and nodded slightly. Staring into her eyes he thrust into her. He simply lay there a moment, giving her a moment to stretch around him and adjust to his size. He could tell she was on the brink of shattering. He lowered his mouth to hers and began to move inside her, pulling himself almost all of the way out before thrusting back in again swiftly. On the fourth trust she came apart around him. His lips on hers muted her cries, and he felt her clamp down around him. He held still a moment, fighting to maintain control over himself.  
  
When the waves of spasms slowed he began on move again in a steady rhythm. He kissed down her neck and took a sensitive nipple in his mouth again, teasing her back into a fevered arousal. Her release built back up slowly into a white hot need, as he increased the pace of his thrusts. One of his hands gripped her hip as the other found her hand ad latched on. She knew that he was losing his struggle to keep in control.  "Don't stop," She moaned.  
  
"I'm going to have to in a second. Charlie, I'm going to -"  
  
She knew he was close but she was almost there, "Sebastian"  
  
He opened his eyes and stared down at her at the sound of his name on her lips. "Come with me" she told him. The suggestion was ludicrous to be sure, but he couldn’t bring himself to listen to his inner voice of reason. He lost his struggle and control of himself. He increased the speed of his thrusts as he plunged his tongue into her mouth. She squeezed his hand as he took her higher, her free hand wrapped at the base of his neck as the fingers of his dug into her hip. She broke off their kiss and buried her face in his neck o muffle her scream as she shattered again. He rapidly thrust into her twice more and then called her name into her shoulder as he emptied himself into her.  
  
They both laid there panting, foreheads pressed together. He lost track of time.  Eventually he moved to lay on his side to avoid crushing her under his weight. She turned to face him, their legs still tangled. He gently brushed her cheek and pulled her into a slow kiss. Eventually she curled into him, tucking her head under his chin, and they drifted off.  
  
He wasn’t sure how long they'd slept but the chill in the air eventually caused her to shiver, waking him up. He woke her gently.  
  
"Hey, Charlie. Rise and shine."  
  
Her eyes fluttered open and she offered him a lazy smile.  
  
"Hello there," she said sleepily.  
  
"Time to get up. You're freezing."  
  
"What time is it?"  
  
"Not sure. Must have left my watch in my other storm cellar," he said wryly.  
  
She rolled her eyes at that as she sat up. She got up to search for her clothes as he propped himself up to watch her.  
  
She came across his pants first.  
  
"I hope you’re enjoying the show," she said innocently, right before she threw his pants at him, hitting Monroe right in the face. He laughed as he pulled them away and stood up, grinning at her. It felt good, he reflected, putting his jeans back on. Just being here with her, no one trying to kill them was nice for a change. He sat back down, holding his shirt and watched her again.

  
She had finally found her clothes and was getting dressed. She sat down next to him while she fastened her boots. He kissed her on the shoulder, noticing the goose bumps that had formed. She was still cold. He placed his shirt over her shoulders while she finished. When she was done, they stood their quietly for a minute, just looking into each other’s eyes. Her gaze dropped to his chest, and she noticed the cloth wrapping had come undone slightly. She carefully unwound it and wrapped him back up. When she was done, he pulled her into his arms to kiss her one last time before she left.  
  
The door suddenly opened, and that was how Miles found them - Charlie, with Monroe's shirt draped over her bare shoulders and her arms wrapped around his waist. Monroe, with his hands on her hair ad his mouth covering hers.  
  
"Oh for God’s sake!" They looked up at Miles and dropped their hands to their sides. Looking at each other guiltily, they each took a step back from one another before looking at Miles again.  
  
"Miles, I -" Monroe began, but Charlie interrupted him. She knew the best way to stop him from shooting Monroe at that moment was to not act guilty and put him on the defensive.  
  
"Damn miles, don't you knock?"  
  
Monroe had to choke on his laughter and her ridiculous question. She really was something. She gave Monroe a meaningful look before she climbed the stairs and disappeared.  
  
"Oh Bass, I am so going to kill you," Miles muttered, before taking the stairs two at a time to follow Charlie. Monroe heard Miles start to raise his voice when he heard a loud thunk followed by the sound of a sword being drawn. Instinct sent him towards the stairs to protect her. He was standing in the way when Miles came hurling down the stairs, knocking Monroe to the ground, right on his back.  
  
He let out an almost unmanly yelp as his back exploded in pain. She climbed down the first few stairs, holding miles' sword just as he and Miles started to gain their feet.  
  
"You okay?" She asked.  
  
Miles started to reply "yes, no thanks -"  
  
"I wasn’t talking to you. You’ve got a hard head. I'm sure you'll be fine."  
  
"I'm alright," Monroe answered her.  
  
"Good. Oh, almost forgot." She tossed his shirt down to him.  
  
Miles finally spoke up. "Charlie, have you lost your mind?"  
  
"Nope. You are not going to kill him. You're not going to hurt him. When it comes to each other you act like you're children. Work it out."  
  
She tossed down the bag of supplies she’d left next to the door when she’d come earlier. "Oh, and you'll need to play nurse and change his bandages later."  
  
She backed up the stairs in case Miles decided to retaliate, and locked them in together. "Charlie, this isn't funny!" Miles called after her.  
  
Monroe started to laugh then. "Suckered you from behind huh?"  
  
"Shut up," Miles snapped. He sank to the ground, determined to pout. Monroe kicked his bedroll over to the wall furthest from miles and sank down on it. "What, not going to share?"  
  
"Hey, get your own blankets. I have seniority down here," Monroe snickered.  
  
With an irritated sigh Mile reached into his pocket to fish for a flask. He’d stolen one from Gene to replace the one he’d “lost” earlier in the day. "Oh come on!"  
  
Charlie's face appeared in the window grate above him. "Yep, that's right. I lifted your whiskey. Now you two play nice. I'm getting cold and am going to go get some sleep. I've had a thoroughly exhausting evening," she winked at Monroe when she said that. It was probably a good thing she was in the window above Miles, where he couldn't really see her. If he'd seen the expression on her face, Miles would probably kill him anyways.  
  
Bass reached into his pants pocket and produced the flask he'd taken off of Miles earlier that day, wishing he’d rationed it a bit better. He grinned at Miles before taking a nice long drink.

He tossed the flask to Miles. Miles went to take a drink when he realized it was now empty. “You’re a dick.”  
  
Miles threw the flask as hard as he could from his position. "Yes. Yes I am,” Monroe said as he batted it away before it hit him in the head.  



	5. Chapter 5

Monroe was laying on his bedroll, his arm thrown across his arms, trying his best to ignore his new roommate. His back was not happy with him for laying on it, but he was just pigheaded enough to not let Miles see. He knew Charlie would have had no way of knowing Miles would catch them, but he'd wondered if she hadn’t planned locking on Miles down here with him in all along. How else would she have gotten the drop on him? But then again, it was easy to fall victim to someone you'd never thought would turn on you. Experience had taught him that. _Hurts, don't it?_ he thought to himself.  
  
Miles was using the bag of stuff Charlie had thrown down as a pillow. Every so often he groaned just a little louder than necessary to make sure Monroe knew how miserable he was. "Will you quit whining?"  
  
Miles adjusted the backpack beneath his head again. "Just can't seem to get comfortable. Guess I'm getting too old to be sleeping on concrete. Now if I had a blanket or something..."  
  
Monroe thought about this for a second. He knew Miles was going to keep bitching just or the sake of keeping him awake, unless he gave him one of the thin blankets that made up his bedroll. "Yeah, not happening, pal. You left me handcuffed to a wall for over a day and you want to whine about a blanket?"  
  
"I'm not the one trying to make history repeat itself. You needed a little time out to think."  
  
This was all really too much. "You really are a self-righteous asshole, you know that?"  
  
Miles considered him for a moment. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
Monroe sat up abruptly. _Was he really that stupid?_ "You're kidding me, right? The whole militia and republic were your fucking idea, Miles. You asked me to back you up, so I did."  
  
"Hey you wanted it as much as I did, Bass," Miles protested.  
  
"Just keep telling yourself that," Monroe rolled to his side, his back to Miles, dismissing him. He knew it was probably a mistake but, was counting on Miles to keep his distance because of Charlie. He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Miles was rolling him over and punching him right in the face. He swung back out of instinct, catching Miles in the jaw right before the bastard had a chance to retreat to his side of the cellar.  
  
Grabbing his nose, he stared at Miles. "What the hell, man?"  
  
That was how Charlie found them a short while later, Monroe holding a potentially broken nose, Miles nursing a slightly swollen jaw, in the midst of an epic glaring contest. She'd only been gone a few hours, but the thought of them beating the hell out of one another had made sleep impossible. She'd come down the stairs with food, holding a shot gun.  
  
"What are you going to do Charlie, shoot us?" Miles snapped.  
  
"If you move, yes. It's rock salt by the way, so don't think I'll hesitate." Monroe cocked an eyebrow at her. So she'd picked up a new trick from their time with the bounty hunters. "Hurts like hell, but it won't kill you."  
  
"Oh, Charlie you are full of surprises," Monroe chucked.  
  
"You have no idea."  
  
Monroe couldn't resist. He knew he was playing with fire, but he was still annoyed about being sucker punched. "Oh I’ll bet," he said in one of his most charming, seductive voices.  
  
"Oh, knock it off,” Miles whined. _Success!_ Having hit his mark, Monroe nodded towards the bag she was carrying.  
  
"So what’d ya bring me?" He sounded like a little kid. She tossed the bundle down.  
  
"Breakfast, boys."  
  
Miles eyed the bundle with suspicion. "Any chance you brought something to drink?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Listen kid, you want dickhead and I to talk, bring whiskey. Lots of whiskey."  
  
Charlie considered Miles for a minute. He was practically begging her. "Listen Charlie," Monroe contributed, "some things, you just can't say sober."  
  
Well, she thought, at least they've managed to agree on something. She let out a sigh. "See to his back, Miles and I’ll think about it." She backed her way up the stairs and locked them in once more.  
  
Miles let out a groan an picked up the bag of bandages. "You heard her. Let’s get this over with." Monroe started unbuttoning his shirt as he walked over. "I swear she'd better brig me some booze after this."  
  
Monroe unwound the bandage and turned his back to Miles. The idea f Miles playing nurse was almost worse than when Rachel tended to him.  
  
Miles removed the gauze strips, dropping them into a small pile. The redness had abated around the slashes that gene had drained the morning before, ad he could see where some of them were scabbing over. After being used to break Miles' fall last night, nothing had broken back open. Miles assumed that must be a good sign. He couldn't resist an when he went to clean the wounds with the vinegar solution, he kind of slapped at Monroe's back with it.  
  
"Watch it asshole. Take it easy would you?" It took all of Monroe's willpower to not turn around an deck him.  
  
"Oops, sorry." Miles' voice dripped with false innocence.  
  
"Just hurry it up."  
  
Miles let out a laugh while he applied the salve. "Why in such a rush, Bass? You got somewhere to be?"  
  
Monroe just ignored him and waited impatiently for Miles to literally slap the fresh gauze on his back. He refused to let on how much Miles' nursing skills stung.  
  
Monroe rewrapped his back and put his shirt back on. Miles was kicking the used gauze into a pile. Laughing to himself Monroe grabbed the food while Miles was distracted and retreated to his side to dig through it. Having momentarily forgotten about breakfast, Miles sat back down and stared at the door, having decided to go back to ignoring Monroe and praying for booze. He was abruptly reminded about breakfast by the small apple that hit him in the side of the head.  
  
He whipped his head around, his eye shooting daggers at Monroe who was innocently digging through the bag, another small apple gripped between his teeth. "Prick." He grumbled. Monroe responded by hitting his chest with a chunk of bread, followed by a missile of dried meat. "A food fight, Bass? Isn't that a little juvenile?"  
  
Monroe took a bite out of the apple and shrugged. "Don't know what you're talking about. I was just trying to share."  
  
They sat in silence and ate. Miles was just considering the benefits of throwing his apple core at Monroe's head when the door opened. Charlie set two bottles down on the second stair and closed the door again. Monroe jumped up and had his hands on the bottles before the bolt outside slid home. "Play nice!" They heard from above.  
  
Monroe looked the bottles in his hands for a second. He cracked a grin as a wicked thought popped in his head. He then thought better of it, and walked over to Miles and slapped one of the bottles in his hands.  
  
He retreated to the opposite wall and sat down with his prize, crossing his ankles on front of him casually, like he always lurked in a storm cellar with his booze. He tipped the neck of the bottle towards Miles in a mock salute and took a long drink. "Well at least if I have to be stuck with you down here, I can do it drunk."  
  
"Uh huh," was the only reply he got as Miles brought the bottle to his lips. They drank for a while without talking. When Monroe finally started to feel the warm glow of a nice whiskey buzz he finally spoke up.  
  
"So why'd you sucker punch me? Which one of my many sin was it?"  
  
Miles considered his bottle while he answered. "Charlie, you idiot. What were you thinking?"  
  
Monroe looked away, not really sure how to respond. He knew he'd crossed a line with that. He'd crossed many lines with Miles over the years, but this was probably the biggest. Miles loved the girl as much as he would if she was his own kid, and Monroe had gone and slept with her.  
  
Miles spoke up again, this time almost shouting. "She's my niece Bass! My niece!"

“I know!” When he realized he’d shouted back, Monroe took a breath and closed his eyes, “I know.”

"So why did you touch her then?"  
  
Monroe considered refusing to answer, but what good would it do? He didn't have any illusions that they'd be back to being best buds after everything that had happened. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he even wanted to be Miles' friend after how bad he'd screwed him over with Connor. But, f they were all going to survive, they had to work together. he knew she wanted them to work it out. As right now, he wasn’t inclined to deny her anything. He sighed deeply, trying to find a place to start. A way to explain.

He felt he at least owed Miles an explanation. He studied the bottle in his hands for a few minutes, trying to find the right words. _I’m not good at this heart to heart shit,_ he thought to himself. While Monroe sat there trying to think of what to say, Miles watched him closely, reading him. A part of him wondered if Monroe was stalling so he could think up a good lie.   
  
Monroe took another deep drink. “Seriously, I never planned on touching her. I won’t lie to you, I’ve thought about it. Who wouldn’t? She’s hot and smart and the girls got some brass. Not to mention she’s probably the one person on the continent that at least pretends to not want me dead. But I wasn’t going to go there.”

“So why did you go there, Bass?”

“It’s complicated, okay? First of all, it just sort of happened. She came back down to check on me, and I said something stupid. She got pissed, so I tried to fix it, and one thing just kind of led to another.”

Miles set his bottle down for a second, and crossed his arms over his chest, eyeing Monroe suspiciously. “What you do mean, came back down?”

Monroe began to tell him about his first night in the cellar and how Charlie came to him. He told him about her offer, and what it had meant. How it got him to think about what he was about to do. “She was right, you know. Even if I got it all back and handed Connor the keys to the kingdom, he’d still hate me. He’d probably put my previous leadership to shame. He’s still messed up. He doesn’t want anything to do with Monroe 2.0. He wants the monster, because that’s what he relates to. That’s no life for him. But, he’s all I’ve got, and the second I tell him there will be no republic, he will probably walk. All she did was remind me that there was still something here for me when that happens.”

Miles cocked his head and stared at Monroe, not quite sure if he was going to believe him or not. “So you’ve decided to replace your son with sex with Charlie?”

“It’s not – It’s not like that. I care about her, alright. And for some reason, she thinks my sorry hide is worth caring about too. Doesn’t matter anyways. I know there can’t be anything there. I’ll watch my kid walk, and I’ll help you fight your little war with the patriots. We’re all probably going to get killed at any rate.”

“So you expect me to believe that Charlie has just swooped down here and single handedly managed to save you from yourself?”

“Why not? Worked for you didn’t it? And besides, what makes you think I give a damn what you think anymore, Miles. I owed you an explanation because she’s your niece and we’ve got 40 years of history here. But I get it; we’re not BFF’s anymore. Haven’t been for longer than I realized.” With that, Monroe stood up. Either whatever they were drinking wasn’t proofed very well, or he was losing his tolerance. He blinked as the world started to sway just a little. He got his balance back, and made his way to the other side of the cellar.

“Where are you going?”

“Oh a hike. Where do you think I’m going? Hafta piss, dumbass. I’d stay put if I were you. Hate to get your boots all wet.” He laughed as he said it, thinking back on his juvenile prank the previous morning.

While he was gone, Miles thought about everything Bass had told him. _So the fucker has feelings for Charlie. Rachel is going to kill him. Hell, she’ll kill me to for good measure._ He still didn’t quite believe that Bass was going to give up on Connor so easily. He’d just have to keep an eye on him. Some of the things that he’d said had disturbed Miles. His plan was to use their past friendship to knock some sense into him. Stick him down here a few days, let him cool down and reason with him. So far, the whole damn thing had backfired, and the only one Bass seemed to care to listen to was Charlie.

Miles was starting to think that Bass had passed out back there, when he shuffled back into the room. “What, did you fall in?” he said with a smirk. All he got in response was a glare. “So what are you planning on doing then?”

“I’m not going to touch her again, if that’s what you mean.” _Liar!_ He thought to himself. _Well, at least I’m going to try not to_ , his inner voice amended. “Patriots need stopping, so I’ll fight with you. And I’ll protect her, even if it kills me. But, when all of this is over, if I’m still alive, I’m done. Walking away. Retired, get it? I’ll find some hole to crawl in and I’m gone.”

“Just like that, huh?”

“It was easy for you. You just walked away from your precious republic and left me to try and pick up all the pieces. And yeah, I know everything I did from that point forward was completely and utterly fucked up. I get it. I went crazy. Kept thinking if I kept it together, you’d come back and everything would be just fine.” He laughed in spite of himself. “Well, it’s not easy for me. I have to work at it. Every time I pick up a sword, I have to remind myself that I don’t want to be that guy anymore. And it’s always a battle to put it back down. I don’t want to live like that, Miles.” He stopped to take a drink. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ease a slight headache that hand formed there. I’m tired. Tired of all of it. The blood, the death. Tired of being the monster that you created.”

Miles stood up. Looking up at Bass with a head full of whiskey was starting to make him dizzy. “I created?”

“Yeah, you heard me. How many times did I ask you to walk away? Tell you that it wasn’t our job to police everyone? But you didn’t listen. You just decided someone was guilty and started shooting.”

“Hey, I’m not the one that started slaughtering camps,” Miles rebutted, stepping forward. Between the alcohol and the past, their tempers were starting to flare.

“No, you just wanted to take their guns and food and leave them to get attacked or starve. You pestered me for weeks to raid that camp. And, I wanted nothing to do with it. I just wanted to be with my wife and raise my kid. But no, you had to keep pushing.” They were standing toe to toe now, eyes shooting daggers at one another.

“Then why did you do it? That’s how this all started, Bass.”

“You didn’t even wait for them to get cold in the ground before you started in on me again. Reminding me about how I still had you, and we needed an army if we were going to survive. Maybe if we’d had better food, more supplies she’d still be there. I was grieving, you asshole. I was out of my head, and you took advantage of that to get what you wanted.” He reached out and shoved Miles. Not a punch, he was a bit too drunk to probably land a good one, so instead he reverted back to third grade and just shoved him instead.

“I was trying to keep you distracted. I didn’t want a repeat of the last time you had to bury someone. I never told you to kill them!” Miles couldn’t believe it, but he’d just shoved Bass right back.- hard. _What the hell are we doing?_ He thought to himself as Bass hit the wall behind him.

Their conversation ended abruptly when Bass charged him, and a fist fight worthy of any grade school playground ensued. They were drunk enough that more punches missed than connected. At one point Miles tripped and they found themselves on the ground. They resorted to basically what amounted to wrestling. Bass had him pinned, and they laid there for a second panting. They were drunk, and they weren’t kids anymore. “You give up?”

“Oh, get off me dickhead.” Miles scowled.

Bass rolled off of Miles, trying to catch his breath. Maybe it was the whiskey, or maybe it was just the absurdity of it all, but he started laughing. Miles gave him a dirty look before he joined in, slowly getting to his feet. He walked over to Bass and looked down at him. Miles considered kicking him just once while he was down, but instead extended a hand to him and helped him up. He bent down and picked up the whiskey bottle Bass had discarded before their scuffle, and handed it to him before sitting down next to his own. They sat there a few minutes, drinking in silence before Miles spoke up. “Listen, Bass. I’m sorry. I should have known you weren’t in your right mind when I asked you about that camp the last time. I should have stopped you, made sure you were okay.”

“It wasn’t all your fault Miles. You put the idea in my head, but I knew better. After Shelly, I just stopped caring, and before I knew it, things had gotten out of hand. I don’t know how I got that messed up, went that far.”

They spent the rest of the night dealing with their problems the only way they knew how: Drinking themselves stupid, telling very horrible old bar jokes and getting into another shoving match, before agreeing to just get over it, and never discussing the past again. “Miles, we sound like a couple of morons. Let’s just call it over and move on?” Bass had said right before he finally passed out.

“S’okay,” Miles had slurred in response.

When the sun started to rise, the door opened up. Rachel had finally gotten Charlie to tell her where Miles had gone. She’d rushed over as fast as she could, convinced that Bass had hurt Miles in some way. Instead she found them snoring loudly, sleeping off a very large amount of whiskey. In the dim light, she could see the bruises forming on their faces. “Retards, she said under her breath before heading up the stairs. She left the door open and simply walked away. _This whole stupid idea of his has gotten out of hand,_ she thought to herself. It was time to stop messing around and get something done. The patriots weren’t going to wait for them to continue playing Jerry Springer. They had work to do.


	6. It could have ended this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first of two endings. This is the happy, fluffy (puppy holding a kitten, if you will) ending. The other one is I think, the more emotional ending, and is heavy with the angst. If you don't like angst and a lot of emotion, I would stop after this chapter. But, I really hope you bother to read both. The second ending in chapter 7 is longer and to be honest, it really wanted itself written the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading. I really appreciate it, and I more than appreciate any feedback, comments, luvs, hates, etc that you have taken the time to sent my way (hopefully more luvs than hates, but I'll take what I can get!)

It could have ended this way: 

Rachel returned shortly thereafter with Gene in tow. Each carried a bucket of water. What they were about to do did seem a bit childish, but considering their intended victims were acting like children, it seemed only fitting. These two had been in the marines for a decade before the power went out, and afterwards had learned how to survive and even thrive where so many hadn’t. And they were so stinking drunk that they didn’t even hear them approach. 

Rachel stood above Miles, with Gene standing near Bass. “On the count of three, Dad,” Rachel whispered. She had to try to suppress a smile. Three seconds later, They dumped the buckets over the idiots’ heads and stood back to enjoy their handy work. 

The two of them immediately sputtered and jumped up. It was Gene who started laughing first, followed soon after by Rachel. “Cute. Very cute,” Bass muttered, as he rose to his feet. His head was pounding from the whiskey. He was also pretty sure that he was still a little drunk.

“Well, we couldn’t exactly set an alarm clock, and we weren’t going to wait all day for the two of you to get your beauty sleep. This has gone on long enough. “ With that, Rachel started heading up the stairs. Gene quickly followed her, eager to escape possible revenge. 

Miles looked at Bass apologetically before following them up. 

“I don’t know if I like your girlfriend anymore, bro” Bass said as he slowly climbed the stairs behind him.

Miles couldn’t help but laugh at that. “I’m not sure if I like her that much now, either.”

“I heard that!” Rachel called, heading back towards the barn they’d been using as a home of sorts since the night at the old high school.

Miles caught up with Rachel and Gene, leaving Bass to himself as he followed them. He hoped that they weren’t far from “home.” He currently felt like hell. When they got back, Connor and Charlie were outside, sorting through some supplies they’d managed to steal from the patriots. Charlie looked at his dripping hair and wet shirt quizzically. “Don’t ask.” When it registered with her what must have happened, she had to swallow her laugh. Bass smiled in spite of himself, shaking his head as he walked past. 

“Hey, where have you been?” Connor called after him. Miles, Rachel and Gene went to the cellar below the barn that they’d been using, where everyone had been sleeping these past few weeks. Wanting nothing more than to finish sleeping it off, Bass shuffled into the barn, dropping his ugly, plaid wet shirt as he went. He had to find something better to wear. He picked the unoccupied stall they’d been using to store the clean hay and straw they’d stolen from the patriots, and he flopped down face first. “I said, where have you been?” Came Connor’s voice from the doorway to the stall. 

Bass turned his head to look up at his son, leaning against the frame, looking quite irritated.  “Later.”

“So you just disappear on some mission for three days and that’s all you’ve got to say?” The kid just didn’t know when to quit sometimes. 

“Yep. Now go away,” Bass knew they needed to talk, and soon. But right now he just wanted to sleep for a few more hours, and clear his head. When it became clear that Connor was not going to go away that easily, Bass sat up, resigned. With a sigh, he began to unwind the bandage that was holding the gauze to his wounds. He stood up and turned around, his back to Connor. “At least make yourself useful. These things are starting to itch like crazy.”

He waited patiently while Connor did as he was asked. When he turned around, he could tell by the look on the kids face that he at least felt bad for what had happened. That was something at least. “Listen, we need to talk. This thing, with the Republic. It’s not gonna happen.”

“What do you mean? You mean you lied to me?” Connor stood there in disbelief. He was trying to hold down his temper, but it was a Monroe temper after all.

“Yes… No… Well, kind of. When I first told you, I was just looking for a reason to get you out of that mess in Mexico. I was trying to save your life, kid. You’re young and stupid, and all you cared about was power.  I know how men like Nunez operate. I used to be like Nunez. But I was serious when I told you that it was a dead end street. It doesn’t matter how much of a badass you are or you think you are. There is always someone better. And you can’t rule people with fear and force. It doesn’t work. Doesn’t last. At some point, someone will come around and take you out. And you’ll go crazy trying to hold on to everything when it happens. I’ve been there. I know. 

But then my staying behind forced your hand, and you had to leave. So when you asked me about it, I decided that I’d do it. If that is what it took to keep you from trying to go back to Nunez, then that’s what it took. I guess I was just kind of hoping that when you got here and saw what they patriots were doing, that you’d change.  Because if we got the republic back, we’d be no better. “

“So why the sudden change of heart, _Dad_?” Connor sneered the word, like it was disgusting. 

“You know, If the last few days have taught me anything, they’ve taught me that I just may have something to lose other than you. You’re my son, and I’m sorry that I wasn’t there before now. I truly am. And if I wasn’t the monster of the Monroe Republic, then your mom would never have sent you there, and you wouldn’t have had to be alone for that Nunez asshole to fuck you up. But if all you want from me is the Republic, then start walking. I can’t go back there. “

“So you’re just going to change your mind and send me on my way?”

“You can stay, if you’re willing to fight the patriots. But, if we miraculously somehow survive, I’m done. I’m out.” Bass finally knew what he wanted, if he lived long enough to get it.

“Just like that? You promised me we’d get it back, and you’re just giving it all up?”

“There’s nothing to give up, Connor. It’s gone, and it would take a miracle to get it back. And I don’t want it anymore. I never wanted the first one. But all I had left was Miles, so I backed him up. The only reason I was even the president in the first place was because everyone thought Miles was a dick.”

Connor looked disgusted. “I can’t believe this.”

“You gotta understand. I’ve been fighting something for over twenty-five years. Before the blackout, it was the marines. Afterwards, we just fought to survive, and then we fought for control. I’m tired of fighting. I want to try living for once. Settle down, make a place for myself. It’s over.”

Connor clenched his fist, and swung back to deck his father. Despite his acute hangover, Bass easily dodged it, grabbing Connor’s wrist. Connor wrenched it free and walked away. With a sigh, Bass dropped back down to the hay and stretched back out on his stomach, his arms folded under his head.

“That sounded like it went well,” Charlie sat down next to him, and started inspecting the marks on his back. 

“Eavesdropping were you?” He turned his head to the side and looked up at her, plotting his next move.

“Didn’t have to. Connor was loud enough.” She eyed him with suspicion as he rolled over on his side to face her. She could see the wheels turning in his head, but couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking.

“Yeah, he needs to learn a little volume control. Got a temper.” He reached out and pulled her into him. She stretched out pressing her body up to his. “Care for a roll in the hay?”

She wondered if he was trying to distract her. “That depends. What were you plotting just a second ago. I know that look.”

“How to get you under me without having to scratch my back up on the straw.”  He captured her mouth as he lifted himself up, and scooted her beneath him, before laying back down, bracing his arms on either side of her. “That’s better.” He said against her lips. She giggled at that. This was the first time that she’d ever seen him look happy, playful even. 

“Oh, come on! Am I going to have to see this any time I walk into a room?” Bass rolled off her. So much for not laying on his back. They both looked up at a very irritated Miles. 

“Miles, you’ve really got to learn how to knock,” Charlie finally said.

Miles shook his head and turned to walk away. “Come down when you two can control yourselves, we’ve got to figure out our next move. We’ve been here too long.”

“He really knows how to kill a mood, doesn’t he?” Bass laughed. They laid there for a few minutes; just enjoying the closeness, knowing now wasn’t the time to take it further. Finally Bass got up, and turned to extend a hand to pull Charlie to his feet. He kissed her gently, as he removed a strand of straw from her hair. Hand in hand, they walked together out of the barn. Bass paused to reach down to pick up the shirt. “Ok, we have got to find me something to wear that’s a little less… Gene,” he told her as he slung it over his shoulder. It was still sopping wet, and he wasn’t about to put it back on yet. 

When they walked down the stairs, everyone was sitting around, waiting for them. Connor was conspicuously absent. Bass felt his heart sink a little, but wasn’t surprised. The kid would do exactly what he’d expected. Without the carrot of power dangling in front of him, he had no use for him. He glanced at Charlie as she crossed the room as he sat down on the bottom cellar step. Despite his promise to Miles to avoid her, their little romp in the hay had cemented it for him. He had someone to hold on to, and he would, as long as she would let him.

“Well, that was faster than I’d imagined,” Miles said, raising an eyebrow at them. Because of Rachel, they’d separated before going down the stairs, and sat as far away from each other as they could get.  

“Shut up, asshole,” Bass said, sending him a not quite so apologetic look. _Sorry bro, I tried._ He silently said. 

Reading the expression on Bass’ face, Miles narrowed his eyes at him. _Yeah right, I’m sure you tried really hard,_ he shot back silently. The sheepish grin on Bass’ face was enough for Miles to know he’d gotten the drift. Charlie watched their silent exchange, damn well knowing exactly what both men were thinking. 

“What did I miss?” Rachel eyed Miles and Bass suspiciously. It had always driven her nuts the way the two of them had always been able to have a conversation without saying a thing. Seeing Charlie’s face, she knew that her daughter had picked up on their unspoken language. Something was up here, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She knew that they’d made up in some way, but it seemed like something else, just under the surface.

“Nothing.” Bass said innocently enough. Rachel was smart – frighteningly smart. He knew it was only a matter of time before she’d figured out a new reason to kill him. With much having been resolved between Miles and himself, he knew that he might eventually have an ally in his corner, once Miles got past the idea that it was niece that his lifelong friend was with. 

Unbeknownst to either of them, Miles had already decided to tolerate what was going on between Charlie and Bass. While the patriots were still a threat, even their daily survival was up in the air. If anything, their relationship (if that’s what it could be called) would ensure that above all else, Bass would protect her. If and when it came down to the end, Bass would get her out of Texas if possible. That one fact was enough for Miles. With everything Bass had done in the past, he would always lay his life on the line for someone he cared about. It was as natural to him as breathing, and indeed was as much as a source for his downfall as it was his redemption.

“Well, we all showed up for your family meeting. Care to tell us why we’re having it?” Bass started. The silence and looks he was getting from Rachel were starting to make him uncomfortable. 

Miles looked around at everyone. He so hated being the de facto “leader” of their group. It made him feel like General Matheson again, but he wasn’t about to let Charlie or Bass take the lead. “We’ve been here too long. We slowed the patriots down when Rachel gave them a taste of their own… medicine. But, let’s face it, noting we’ve done is going to slow them down for long. Anyone got any bright ideas?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess that this is the “happy” ending, as much as can be had. Bass assumes that Connor is really gone. But is he? Will Rachel try to kill Bass when she finds out his new family obsession? If I decide to continue this story at one point with another fic, I suppose that this would be the launch point.   
> But, is this the way it really happened?


	7. But maybe this is what really happened?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this version of the ending has a major character death! (with a little smattering of hope at the end.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why this ending flowed the best for me, but it did. It wasn’t the original way I had thought of ending things, but once the idea popped in my head, I couldn’t seem to let it go. Hence the two different endings in the first place.

When Bass awoke the late afternoon sun was seeping into the windows, casting eerie shadows on the concrete walls. He waited for the blurriness to clear, and looked around when he was at last able to focus on his surroundings. Miles was no longer slumped against the wall across from him. "Miles?" he called out, wincing as the sound of his own voice echoing increased the tempo of the steady pounding ache in his head. He listened intently for a few minutes before he decided he was most definitely alone. Even with a head full of whiskey, Miles was as light of a sleeper as he was, if he was in the back room, he would have woken and respond.  It was kind of strange though. He should have woken up when he’d left. _Where the hell is Miles?_

 

Bass slowly sat up. His back screamed in protest as the bandages pulled. He'd been passed out on his back long enough for the gauze to stick to the slashes. The pounding in his head retaliated. He looked up towards the door. It was closed. Surely Charlie hadn't locked him in again? After the night they'd shared, he was sure she'd let him go, especially once he and Miles had complied with her demand for them to reconcile. And hadn't they done just that? Granted, it may not have been exactly what she had in mind but they'd worked it out in their own way.  

 

He briefly wondered much of his headache was due to the whiskey as opposed to the scuffles that had broken out between him and Miles periodically throughout the night. He couldn't quite remember what the last one was over. It was just as likely to have been over something trivial as it was over something serious. Having had enough of the cellar, Bass started to stand up. A wave of dizziness washed over him, causing him to grab for the steel bar embedded in the wall. Where the hell had that come from? It had probably been 20 years since he'd experienced a hangover like this. He waited several minutes for the feeling to subside. When he finally felt steady, he turned to head towards the stairs. 

 

"What have you done to yourself?” the feminine voice came from the shadows in the adjoining room. Having been so sure he was alone, the sudden question nearly made him jump. His hand instinctively went to his belt, where a sword normally hung. Of course his swords had been confiscated, but old habits die hard. 

 

"What?" he hadn't even realized he was responding until the words were already out. Who on earth was there? 

 

"I said, what have you done to yourself?" the voice was strange and then at the same time vaguely familiar. He couldn't quite put his finger on where he'd heard it before, but he knew he had. Well, that meant whoever was hiding down here must be someone he had met before. 

 

"Haven't you ever seen a man with a hangover before?" Bass slowly walked towards the next room, determined to find the source of the voice. 

 

"You never used to be like this. What happened?"  He hesitated for a second. He knew that voice. He wracked his brain trying to attach a face to it. It suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. It had to be wrong. There was no way. _That's impossible_ , he thought. But deep inside he knew exactly whose voice he was hearing. The same tone. The same flat Midwest accent. "What happened, Bass?"

 

Standing in the doorway of the next room, he closed his eyes for a second, taking the voice in. It had been so long since he'd heard it he'd almost forgotten what it sounded like, its subtle nuances having faded from his memory with time. Now it came flooding back. Feeling like he was about to make a total ass out of himself by addressing someone that he knew couldn't possibly be there, he opened his eyes and called the owner of the voice by name. "Mom?"

 

A shadow moved forward towards him and into the dim light stepped Gail Monroe. He took a step back, away from the figure of the woman who had brought him into this world. Bass closed his eyes and counted to three in his head, convinced that when he opened them, he would once again be alone. As he prepared to open his eyes, he absently thought to himself, _I am never drinking again_. But, when he opened them, she was still there, watching him with the same patient expression she always had worn when he'd been about to get into trouble. 

 

"You... You can't be here," he took another step back as he spoke, almost tripping over his own feet.

 

"Can’t I?" she followed him, step for step, refusing to allow him to increase the distance between them. 

 

"No, you can’t. You’re dead. I buried you, eighteen years ago." he continued to back up as he spoke, while she followed. He stopped only when his back hit a wall. "That's it. I've finally done it. I've finally gone completely bat shit fucking crazy."

 

His mother shook her head at him, silently denying the complete loss of his sanity. "What happened, Bass?" she asked him again. 

 

"What do you mean, what happened?" 

 

"This isn't you," she gestured at him. "You were always a good boy. And grew to become a good soldier. We were so proud of you for standing up and protecting your country." Bass looked away from her. Hallucination or not, how could he look her in the eyes? "You were raised better than this. The Marines taught you to kill, but we taught you to value life. How could you kill so many needlessly? How did you become so cold?"

 

How could he explain it?  "You all died. And then all hell broke loose. And then Shelley died, with the baby. And I died right along with all of you."

 

She reached up and rested her hand on his cheek, just like she'd done a thousand times throughout his youth. "You never could lie to me. Stop lying to yourself. You’re still there somewhere. You can't keep hiding, can't keep fighting."

 

"I've tried. I am trying, but this is all I know. So many years, so much blood. it just got all out of hand. We went too far. The militia, the Republic, everything. I don't know how it happened. It’s so hard to go back."

 

He could see the disappointment in her eyes. It seeped into him, condemning him for all the things he'd done. Making the regret he'd felt for the past hit him tenfold. Over the years he had tried to erase them from his memory. They'd been all gone so long, he'd rarely thought of them. He'd refused to think of them. But she was here now and despite all reason, it felt like it was really her. 

 

It was almost as if she read his thoughts. "How could you forget us? Forget your past so easily?" 

 

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" he felt his eyes sting, welling up with tears eighteen years in the making. 

 

She wrapped her arms around him, like he was still a little boy being comforted for a skinned knee. He could feel her, smell her perfume. "You have to fix things."

 

He pulled back to look at her, confusion in his eyes. "I have. At least, I'm working on it. I've worked things out with Miles, kind of. And Charlie..."

 

She cut him off. "You can't reform the Monroe Republic. It never should have been in the first place. You have to tell them."

 

"They know. I've already worked this out. I'm not going to do it." He felt silly discussing his plans with his mother, who stood there looking not much older than himself, her presence an impossibility. But he had to make her see, understand.

 

"Have you?"

 

"Yes. I've talked to Charlie and Miles. Promised them. I'm not go back there."

 

"Are you so sure that’s what you’ve done?" As she said it his vision faded for a second. The room seemed darker, and the weight of it seemed to press down on him. He shook it off. He looked into her eyes, swearing they'd changed somehow, just for a second. Like they were no longer hers.  

 

"What do you mean? Of course I'm sure. A flash-- Different eyes. The walls around him darker. Dirty. That pressing feeling. "What's happening?" he sank to the ground. It was getting hard to breathe. 

 

"It’s time, Bass. Time to wake up." Flash- the flicker of lanterns, flash- again the afternoon rays filtering in through the grates on the windows. "You've got to take care of things before time runs out. Time to wake up and get started." He felt dizzy again. The room flashed. He focused on the steel bar in the wall across from him. It seemed to fade, leaving nothing more than the ends, rusted out and embedded in filthy, crumbling concrete. He looked away, looked up at his mother again, then his eyes darted  to the corner. Flash- it was no longer empty. A pile of junk stacked on a workbench. Flash- gone again. Replaced with just two empty walls coming together. 

 

He was now lying in the center of the room. He didn't remember moving there. The heaviness and dizziness was overwhelming. There had to be something in that whiskey. They must have drugged him. But, why? Gail had left. "Wait! Come back!" No one responded. He closed his eyes, squinting them shut to block out the strange things he'd seen. Everything seemed to still. He opened his eyes.

 

He was lying on a cot. There was a plastic mask over his mouth and nose; he felt air being forced into his nose and mouth. Someone was pounding on his chest in a steady rhythm. ”One, Two, Three, Four, Five…” Then it stopped. The pounding and counting resumed, “One, Two, Three, Four, Five. His eyes came into focus. He saw faces. Gene, Charlie. Charlie squeezed a bag that was attached to the mask on his face. He struggled to breathe on his own. His hand came up and tried to rip the mask off his face. Unseen hands pulled his arms down, held him to the cot. He took in a gasping breath, the mask fell away.  The breath burned, like it did when you were underwater a few seconds too long. Bass darted his eyes around the room, taking in his surroundings. The safe house. The cellar they'd been staying in. Lanterns flickered. The random junk the barn’s previous owner had left filled every nook and cranny. He struggled to sit up. The Phantom hands pushed him down again. He vaguely heard someone say, "He's back." Rachel? Charlie? He wasn't sure which the voice belonged to. 

 

A candle was held over his face. Gene was above him, using a mirror to reflect the candle’s light into his eyes, one at a time. "Can you hear me?" Gene’s voice seemed so distant. He tried to speak, but he didn't seem to be able to catch his breath enough to form words. He simply nodded and turned his head.

 

Charlie was there. She read the look on his face and answered the unspoken question, _What happened?_ "You were gone. You stopped breathing. Had a seizure. We brought you back."

 

He reached a hand out towards her to caress her face, but stopped himself short. It came back to him now. The typhus. How it wasn't spreading but yet he'd somehow been infected all the same. It didn't make sense. It was like he had two sets of memories. 

 

Charlie didn't know what he'd been about to do exactly. She’d thought he was about to touch her and then hesitated. He looked so confused, lost. He had literally just died in front of her, even if it was only a few minutes. She took the hand that he'd lifted in her own, squeezing it gently. He closed his eyes for a second and squeezed it back. If anyone else had witnessed the exchange, it wasn’t mentioned.

 

He held onto her hand like a lifeline as he glanced at Rachel. Her normally cold facade had momentarily melted into one of concern. "Didn't I earn a dose of the antidote?" It came out as a whisper. 

 

She flinched at his question, taken aback. Despite everything between them, she was astounded that he’d accuse her of cruelty. Refusing to be baited, she replied somewhat coldly. “We gave it to you twice. Man-made or not it's still a form of typhus. The antidote does kill off the bacteria that causes it but you had a complication." he furrowed his brows at her, not quite understanding. "Your back," she explained, "it was starting to get infected. The typhus let the secondary infection take over."

 

"How? Thought it couldn't spread." his voice sounded foreign and raspy in his ears.

 

"We don't know. The Patriots had infected the food supply. But you didn't eat anything from town. But we checked it, you had the same thing, and from what I can tell it's still not contagious. Maybe something contaminated touched your back when we changed your bandages? "

 

He shrugged. In the end, it didn't really matter how he'd gotten it. He looked around again. Miles and Connor were leaning against the wall, off to the side. Miles looked worried and relieved at the same time. Connor simply looked bored. He looked closer at his progeny. It was like staring into his own face. He'd been dead. Sure it had only been for a few minutes, but in this world sometimes that's all it took. And the kid looked fucking bored. Just another delay in being heir to the throne. Bass looked away again, resolute in what he had to do concerning his son. 

 

Rachel continued, "You're not out of danger yet. We've tracked down a source for penicillin. We'd just given it to you when you seized. It needs time to work. You’ve been in a coma until now."

 

He nodded in response. His eyes grew heavy, so he closed them. None of it had been real. He had thought he was going crazy, talking to the long dead. But the rest? He could feel the way Charlie had felt beneath him. The glow of the whiskey as he and Miles had gotten drunk together, working out their past. Even now, as Charlie held onto his hand, there was something familiar there. And as he'd been passing out after talking to Miles he'd felt a certain peace –Like everything had changed, and that he could redeem himself after all. Now that was fading away, and he was terrified to let it go. Charlie squeezed his hand gently again, as if to ask him if he was still awake. He squeezed back to assure her he was still with them. "How long?" He whispered. 

 

"The coma?" He nodded, eyes still closed. "Three days." _Three days? That’s how long I was there_.  How did he dream that? He'd dreamt he'd slept down there, had dreams within that dream. But the entire time, his body had been here, wasting away. He heard Gene and Rachel get up and walk away. "Don’t try to move. Rest," Charlie added. He'd expected her to join the others but she stayed there, holding his hand. He heard the others discussing something on the other side of the room. He concentrated on the sounds, straining to hear. It sounded to him like the must have left the room to speak privately, but he could still just barely make out what was being said.

 

"How long till he can be moved? We've been here too long. Eventually the Patriots are going to find us. We need to find someplace else." _Ah Miles, always plotting the next step._

 

He almost missed Gene’s response, low as his voice was now. "The antidote worked but it was designed to only neutralize the typhus. That isn’t the problem now. He’s got sepsis, but he’s still too weak from the original illness."

 

"He has to be getting better, how else is he awake?” Miles refused to truly grasp what Gene was telling him. 

 

“I have no idea. By all accounts, he shouldn’t be. He’d be better off if he wasn’t.” 

 

“So what do we do now?” Miles felt helpless. He did his best to keep it out of his voice, but Bass could still hear it. They’d known each other too long.

 

Rachel spoke up now, "We hope the penicillin is strong enough and works before he goes into complete septic shock. This isn’t the same as the antidote. It was grown on bread. We have no way of knowing the dose.”

 

“So just give him more.” 

 

“We can’t do that. We only have so much. It works better over a longer time frame. Plus, if we give him too much it will just shock his system more.” Gene reasoned.

 

“I don’t get it. The patriots have their own disease with antibiotics that only cure that disease. How is that possible when we’re using moldy bread for medicine?” Miles wondered.

 

“The DOD had dozens of research departments before the black out. Biological warfare was supposed to be off limits but they must have been working on this," Rachel explained. 

 

"First Randall Flynn, and now all of this? It's starting to look like the DOD planned all of this,” Miles sounded distracted as he spoke, but Bass  thought he might actually be on to something. It all seemed a bit too convenient. When he got better, they'd have to check that angle out. _Might help us fight the bastards._

 

Gene steered the conversation back towards Bass, “Lab created or not the typhus is a serious infection. Add that to the lashing he received in Mexico... "

 

Miles interrupted " He was fine. How is that a problem now?"

 

"Whips cause more damage than you think. It's not just the cuts. The weight of the whip can damage things internally. Even a bruised kidney can become a problem when you add the typhus on top of it. And with travel and then jumping back into things with the Patriots on top of it, some of the cuts had to have gotten infected. Any superficial infection can become opportunistic when the body is fighting off another infection."

 

"How soon until we know? What are his odds?"

 

"If he hangs on another day or two, he might make it. I can't exactly give him an MRI or do lab work so I'm guessing here. His odds aren’t good, not by a long shot." Gene wasn't optimistic. 

 

While Bass appreciated they’d tried to keep the truth from him, he’d heard it all.. So he was probably going to die. If he wasn't so damned tired he would have laughed at the irony of it all. After everything he'd survived, it was a whipping from his own son and a lab created typhus that was going to do him in. He drifted off to sleep thinking about how stupid it was. 

 

When he woke up again it was late. Everything was quiet. _They must be sleeping_. Charlie was still there next to him, but had fallen asleep. Her head rested on the cot by his hip. At some point while he slept an IV had been stuck in his arm. The bag hung on an old coat rack they'd found. Someone must have snuck back into the Patriots quarantine camp and gotten the equipment. He hoped every one of those bastards was dying without the antidote. When they'd found it they had used most of it on the town’s stricken. There had only been a few doses left for the patriots. 

 

His stirring woke Charlie. She lifted her head and looked at him sleepily. "Hey," she whispered.

 

"Hey." He didn't know exactly what to say to her. He knew now what happened was merely a dream but he was left with all the residual feelings like it had been real. His dream had forced him to confront so many things he had refused to acknowledge. But here she was holding vigil at his bedside. Dream or not, there was something there regardless. 

 

"How do you feel?" The question was a little ridiculous, but it broke the uneasy silence. 

 

"Wonderful. Sure I'll be up doing back flips in no time," he laughed lightly, causing him to cough violently. He realized that cracking jokes was a bad idea when the coughing had left him unable to breathe. Charlie scrambled for the air bag, and put the mask back over his face. She squeezed the bag, forcing air into his lungs, while he struggled to breathe on his own once more. Their eyes locked while she spent the next few minutes trying to help him catch his breath back. Finally able to breathe unaided he pushed the bag away gently with his hand. "Thank you," He panted. They sat in silence as he stared at the ceiling and concentrated for a few minutes on breathing. He'd rarely ever been sick in his life. It was almost humiliating now. The infamous Sebastian Monroe, felled by a simple laugh. It was also not lost on him that he was being cared for by a family where each member had each wanted him dead at some point - some of them more recently than others

 

She picked up his hand checked his pulse at the wrist with her other hand, like Gene had taught her to do. His pulse was too fast, but she was willing to let herself be convinced it was a bit stronger than earlier. She set his hand back down but Bass tightened his grip, refusing to let her go. She hesitated for a second but allowed it. She had seen the looks she'd gotten earlier from her mother. She’d prefer to not have to answer questions about the nature of her their relationship, especially when she didn’t even know what it was. 

 

"Where did you go while you were out?" the question had been forcing its way to the surface for some time. She knew it was morbid at best, but she'd been curious. Most of them had taken the time to talk to him while he’d been out, hoping that he’d respond in some way. Sometimes, it had seemed like he was getting ready to, like their words were bringing him above the surface.

 

"Nowhere. Somewhere. I don't know." He didn't quite know how to explain it. He looked away briefly, looking around the room. There were things about this place he hadn't bothered to notice before. The walls and floor had once been smooth concrete, but had crumbled with time and lack of maintenance. He noticed how the windows with the remnants of the grates that once covered them. He could see some of them still had the hinges attached. And, in some places he could see where there had indeed once been steel bars embedded all around the walls. It suddenly made sense. "It was like this place but empty and newer. People came and went. Talked to me, left. Everyone but Connor, actually. It was like a really weird vivid dream. "

 

"We've all been taking care of you. Even Miles. "

 

"Except Connor," it was almost bitter the way he'd said it. He knew when Connor left Mexico with them that he didn't exactly care for him, but still he was the kid’s father. It stung that he hadn't given a damn. Not when the people he'd hurt the most in this world did.

 

"No, not him. I'm sure that-"

 

"It’s okay, Charlie. You don't have to make excuses. I get it He’s got every reason to hate me."

 

"I'm sorry," and he could tell she'd meant it.  

 

"Listen, I've got to talk to you and Miles. While I still can" He added that last part quietly. She found it disconcerting.

 

"There'll be time for that later." she was trying to reassure him, and he found it kind of sweet. 

 

"Charlie, we both know that's probably not true. You heard your grandfather. Chances are I'm dying."

 

She sat there a second, taking in what he said. Sighing, she relented. "Okay. I'll go get him." she started to get up but he held on to her hand, keeping her there for a second longer. 

 

"Listen, I want you to know how sorry I am. For everything."

 

"You don't have to-"

 

"I do. I never meant for any of it to happen. Your dad, your mom, Danny. None of it was supposed to happen that way. Once it all started, I just didn’t know how to stop it.” Tears welled up in his eyes as he spoke to her, and his chest was beginning to constrict again, whether from emotion or his weak lungs, he couldn’t quite be sure. She heard the telltale rasping and put the mask over his face once more. 

 

As she squeezed the bag, she leaned in close and whispered into his ear, as if she was afraid of being overheard. “You don’t have to do this. I forgive you.” He focused on her words as he tried to take slow, deep breaths as she helped him recover from the attack. They sat that way for several minutes until he could speak again. 

 

“It was because of you, you know.” He finally said to her.

 

“What was?”

 

“Back at the school, when we were under attack. I didn’t come back because of Miles or Aaron. I came back because of you. Because I couldn’t stand the thought of you getting hurt.” His confession did not come easy. He wanted her to understand, but he didn’t quite know how to get there. 

 

“Why?” She was confused. They had become friends to a point after their trip to Willoughby together. And after his execution she had been devastated before she learned he was still alive. After that, he seemed to distance himself from her, rarely making eye contact until he’d walked back in to save her once more.

 

“Couldn’t you tell?” Charlie shook her head at that slowly, still not understanding. He paused for a few minutes to catch his breath and find the words. “I tried to stay away from you, take a step back. It was for your own good. You reminded me so much of who I used to be, before the Militia – before the blackout even. Made me want to find the old Bass again.”

 

“Then why back away?” 

 

“Because I was mad at Miles for hiding Connor from me and it was just easier to stay away from you both.  Because I’m simply not good enough; Because you hated me; and because it hurts to want what you can’t have. Pick a reason. They’re all true. But I still cared.”

 

He left the rest unsaid. He never was good at talking about what he felt, despite the fact that he’d always been the type to care too much, to the point it consumed him. And she knew how much his confession had cost him, and what he meant when he said he cared. She wouldn't make him say it now. She reached her free hand out and caressed the side of his face, the hair from his beard scratching her palm. She bent forward as she stood and kissed him lightly on the lips before releasing his hand and walking out the door. He knew then that she understood. 

 

He was so tired after talking to Charlie. He closed his eyes again while he waited. It seemed like only a few minutes passed when he opened them back up to find Charlie and Miles sitting on either side of him.

 

“See how you are. Have her wake me up in the middle of the night for a chat, and then you went and took a nap.” Miles said grumpily. “What’d you want, Bass?” Miles tried his best to suppress a yawn, but he’d been sitting there for almost an hour waiting for Bass to wake back up and explain why he’d felt the need to have Charlie fetch him so urgently.

 

"If you'd shut up, I'll tell you. Prick" He grumbled the last part under his breath. He waited to make sure he had their attention, and then began to tell them about his offer to Connor. He could tell that while they weren't all that surprised, they both felt it as a betrayal of sorts. 

 

"Why are you telling us this?" Miles finally asked him. 

 

"Because you have a right to know. If I live through this, I don't plan on following through with it. I had hoped that once we got back and Connor could see for himself what the Patriots really were and what we were fighting for that he'd find a purpose other than finding power. But I see now that's all he cares about. You have to find a place for him where he's out of all this. Even if I die, he'll try to find a way to lead under the Monroe name. I never should have gone back for him in Mexico. Rachel was right. He can't be fixed. Not now."

 

Miles did his best to keep his temper under control. He couldn’t believe that Bass had actually considered reforming the Militia behind his back. He opened his mouth to speak, but realized that Bass had fallen back to sleep again. He waited for a while, and just as he was about to stand up again, Bass opened his eyes back up. He looked confused. It dawned on Miles that he’d had no idea that a good half hour or so had passed. 

 

Charlie was no longer in the room. Miles had finally sent her away. For some reason he couldn’t fathom, she’d insisted on keeping an eye on him. She was exhausted, and it aggravated Miles to see her wearing herself down for Bass. When it all came down to it, Bass was his problem, not hers. Despite the bad blood between them, they were still brothers. It should be his job to take care of him now. 

 

“Miles, I’m sorry I didn’t want to go back home.” Miles looked down at Bass now. He was paler, and his eyes were barely open. His voice was barely above a whisper. 

 

“What are you talking about, Bass?”

 

“After we went to Chicago looking for Ben and Rachel. You wanted to go back to Jasper, but I talked you out of it. I’m sorry.” Bass was starting to get agitated. Miles knew that the fever was taking back over. The lucidity he’d had when he’d first woken up from the coma, after they’d brought him back was short lived.

 

“Bass, that was over 15 years ago. Don’t worry about it.” 

 

“No. It’s where it all started, see? I was afraid to go home. Afraid to face it. I was terrified of looking at their graves and remember the loss. Remember what I almost did. All of it.” Again, he couldn’t breathe. Bass hated the weakness that had taken him over. He’d fought terrorists and bandits, rebels and patriots. And now he was fighting just to keep his lungs working. Miles grabbed the airbag, and squeezed it, the way he’d watched Charlie do earlier. He furrowed his brows with concern as he waited for Bass to be able to continue. He knew that he was determined to talk about it, so all he could do was be there and listen.

 

“You know Jasper had nothing to do with any of it Bass. Why bring it up now?”

 

He moved the mask so Bass could talk. “Don’t you see? If we had gone back there, none of it would have happened. At some point, I’d have met Connor. The power going out would have changed things. She’d have told me, and I would have stayed. We would have stayed to protect the town. It never would have been. That one decision, it could have changed everything.”

 

“It wasn’t all your fault, Bass. I never should have pushed you into attacking that other camp. You were grieving, and I had figured that if I got you to do something, you’d get past it. I should have known better. I was just terrified that I wouldn’t be there in time to stop you from going with them, so I pushed you at someone else. Gave you someone else to take it out on. And in the end, I never should have left you alone in Philly. I should have just gotten you out of there. So see, we’re both to blame.”

 

They both heard a sound, and turned to see Charlie standing in the doorway. She’d never known the truth of why Bass had lost it. They hadn’t gone into full details, but she’d heard enough. Her heart went out to both of them. They’d finally found a way to resolve their past, and now it was too late. 

 

She sat back down next to Bass, as Rachel also entered the room. She unhooked the bag hanging on the coat rack and walked over to the workbench to refill it. She too had heard much of what both men had said. She could not say she’d forgiven Bass for anything, but she was sorry for what was happening all the same. It was more so for Miles than anything. Good or bad, Bass had been a part of his life for forty years. He was hurting, so she hurt along with him. She reattached the bag, and then prepared another antibiotic dose. She knew that there was little help of the penicillin doing anything at this point, so despite what they’d told Miles, she gave him everything they had as a last ditch effort. He barely even registered the needle entering the skin on his forearm. She squeezed Miles’ shoulder before leaving the room, and left them to hold vigil one last time.

 

Charlie and Miles were both asleep now. He wasn't sure of the time. Weak light filtered in the windows. Charlie had pulled her chair closer to the cot, and held his hand in both of hers. She was bent forward, with her head resting on his stomach. He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand, causing her to murmur in her sleep. He smiled at that. He had done his best to make what peace he could with the Mathesons, despite all the regrets he had. A few stray tears fought their way out, as he looked down at the foot of the bed. He saw her standing there. "That's my boy, sleep now." Gail Monroe whispered. He closed his eyes again and began to drift. When Charlie woke up a few minutes later, he was already gone. 

 

As tears welled up in her eyes, a sound from above caught her attention. The door to the cellar was opening. She walked to the doorway to see who was intruding. She’d recognize those boots anywhere. Aaron had finally returned. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will leave a few things up to interpretation to you: Who was really appearing to Bass? Was it a ghost? A hallucination? Or, maybe it was the nanites. And, if it was the nanites, maybe Aaron’s appearance at the end wasn’t a coincidence… So maybe this one ends with a little bit of hope after all.


End file.
